


At What Cost

by poes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Slow Burn, Talon!Hanzo AU, This Is Gonna Be A Long One Hopefully, bottle episode, kind of, other characters will appear later on but for a long while... just mentions, tags will be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poes/pseuds/poes
Summary: Talon!Hanzo AU.After murdering his brother, Hanzo ran until his legs gave out. He didn't realize he was being hunted until it was too late, and fell into the claws of a beast that promised to soothe his conscience and give a brotherkiller purpose.Years later, Overwatch is reinstated.The dragon is called to feed before their opposition can find Talon's weaknesses.His target is one Jesse McCree.[HIATUS until Bad Moon is finished.]





	At What Cost

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> This is both my first (public) Overwatch fic and my first real attempt at a multi-chapter fic! I've had this percolating for a while now, and now I hope I can deliver! I'll try to update regularly, but as of now there's no schedule. It's also lowkey a gift for my friend Venus, whose been sitting in McHan hell with me since the beginning.
> 
> This first chapter is more of a prologue than anything. Hope you enjoy!

_The room is dark and quiet._

_In the corner, a soft blue light is pulsing, like a heartbeat._

_He watches it. When he activates it, it will be an automatic reaction. Listen, move, kill, return. He’s been doing it for long enough now that he knows the drill, that variances are rare, and that anything new thrown at him is something to slide into his routine rather than juggle. It will be fast, and the mission will go by in a blur, as it always does._

_Sometimes he fails._

_Most times, he doesn’t._

_He watches the light, and in the back of his mind, something burns, as it always does. The flame has dulled over the years, but it’s still there, no matter how often he tries to snuff it out._

You are better than this, _it tells him, and the worst part is that it’s in his own voice; disgusted, sneering, and somehow still enough to actually make him feel a spike of something._

No,  _he thinks, as he finally moves further into the room, his hand slowly sliding off the metal doorframe, clicking gently against the metal of his glove,_ I’m not.

_The walk over is slow and silent. Despite himself, there is a thrill in his stomach. An unpleasant one, but one that knows what is about to happen, and knows he will need to be ready. Unlike his co-workers, he finds no pleasure in this._

_He doesn’t find pleasure, period._

_Still, there is a comfort in the monotony, he supposes. Or… not a comfort, but a complacency. Very little startles him anymore. Very little makes his breathing heavy, makes fear or excitement jolt in his veins, makes him have any additional nightmares besides the ones that have plagued his mind for so long, now. There is a monotony in those dreams, too, but a different kind; a weight and terror he will always carry with him, a shame that weighs his shoulders and makes pulling himself out of bed in the aftermath that much harder._

_He kneels down before the communicator and picks it up. The button is smooth and unassuming under his thumb; only he knows the real power this small thing holds. He presses it down with the barest hint of an exhale._

_The response is immediate._

_“Dragonstrike. We have an assignment for you. Marked urgent.”_

_He doesn’t know the voice on the other end of the line. He wonders if he will ever see the woman’s face, and then wonders why he cares._

_Foolish._

_Instead, he closes his eyes,_ _ignore all distractions_ _, and then opens them again. He can feel the thrum in his veins, his blood thrilling and reminding him that he is, in fact, alive, and doing this._

_“Acknowledged,” he replies. “Dragonstrike reporting.”_

_After taking a moment to confirm that it’s him, assumedly through vocal recognition software, the voice continues. “Your target is one of the recalled members of Overwatch. He potentially has information pertaining to our former operatives inside Blackwatch at the time of the fall. We’ve sent operatives after him before; all have failed to incapacitate him, and that was if they found him.” He frowns, intrigued despite himself. “We have little doubt he will be answering the recall. We need him dead before he can get there, or that information will be falling into hands that could potentially use it to destroy us. You have approximately 3 days.”_

_There’s a pause, and then, “by no means are you to interact with any other members of Overwatch. If you’re compromised…” The voice trails off, but he knows what is being said without it being spoken._

_He cannot be compromised._

_“His name is Jesse McCree,” continues the voice, after letting the gravity of the unspoken threat weigh down his shoulders further. “The file is being sent to your phone now.”_

_He inhales, and the name settles in his brain, cloaking over and sinking in._

_“Jesse McCree,” he repeats, tasting it. It sounds dangerous, but intentionally so. “Whoever he is,” he says, raspy even to his own ears, “he is already dead.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Miles and miles away, one Jesse McCree stares at the cell phone he’s just set down. It looks worn and used, which is deceptive; in actuality he’s owned it for maybe a year now. It’d just been shoved in the bottom of his bag and jostled around with ammo and metal and clothing, but it was still new. A necessity of the job; be unreachable.

Until around 20 minutes ago, when it had, out of nowhere, starting buzzing and beeping so obnoxiously that he’d woken up from bed and rolled out of it, instincts telling him to duck and cover from grenades.

Imagine his surprise when the noise was emanating from the shitty old military bag he’d been lugging around for years now.

He’d almost not believed his ears. He hadn’t heard anything out of his burner phones that wasn’t a response to ordered food in… years, it felt like. Sure, he had a couple apps on there; games, for when he was bored, and the aforementioned food ordering app for when the nights grew long, but…

He’d picked up the rumbling phone to find a notification for a text sitting on the screen. Unknown number, of course. He’d swiped his thumb over it, curious and, somewhere deep in his gut, already preparing to pack up, dump the phone, and change his alias again.

But the text had ended up being a vid. When Jesse had clicked the play button, he certainly hadn’t expected to see the face of a gorilla. Especially a gorilla he recognized. It’d taken him twice through to believe he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. But the message was clear.

Overwatch was being recalled.

He whistles through his teeth now, staring down at the phone and stopping himself from watching a third time. “Well… goddamn,” he murmurs to no one.

After a moment more, he shakes his head and turns to the rest of his room, putting his hands on hips and exhaling long and slow. “Goddamn,” he repeats, and then moves to the bag again, pulling out clothes to get dressed.

His hat comes last, and as Jesse affixes it to the top of his head, he glances at himself in the mirror.

A little heavier around the middle than he’d been when he ditched Blackwatch. Heavier all around, really. Still strong, though. Just because he wasn’t running laps every day and deadlifting until he puked didn’t mean he wasn’t getting a workout in most days. He thinks of the amount of times he’s had to flying leap onto moving cars in the past month and feels a phantom pain in his gut.

Shaking it off, Jesse turns next to the laptop sitting innocently on the table the hotel room had provided. The hard drive glowing soft green in the port on the side. Jesse frowns at this, and moves closer.

That hard drive had shit on it that people would kill for. That people had already tried to kill him for. The phantom pain stings again, but now it’s in the gunshot wounds on his side and grazing along the outside of his thighs and biceps. Jesse brings a hand to his chest and scratches carefully around a couple of his hand-made stitches near his collarbone, leaning closer to the laptop and opening it.

He’d left it to run overnight; the little progress bar is now fully green and blipping a soft _Data Transferred_ underneath.

Good.

Overwatch was never going to believe what he’d found.

He could hardly believe it himself. It made his stomach hurt to think about.

Jesse removes the hard drive and immediately pockets it, not wanting to think about what’s on it anymore. He shuts the laptop down and closes it again, and pushes it somewhat haphazardly into the military bag. Good thing the machine was built to be practically indestructible.

After another pass over the room, finding nothing out of place, Jesse sighs and sinks back down onto the bed. He glances out the window; Dorado’s sky is dark and spotted with stars.

Right. Shit. Jesse glances at his phone again.

_3:26 AM._

“Ugghh,” he grumbles. Not Winston’s fault he’d paged him in the middle of the night, but Jesse had actually been sleeping dreamlessly. After all the shit he’s dug up recently, those nights had been fewer and farther between.

He lays on his back, wondering if he could maybe grab a couple more hours before heading out. At least until daylight. 4 hours is good enough for him to run on, but 6 hours would be even better.

His phone blips. Jesse, wearily, opens his eyes and checks it.

Another unknown number.

>   
>  _u get it too?_

 

Jesse doesn’t have to think about who it is. Only one person somehow always finds his number, no matter how many times he changes it.

He types a response.

>   
>  **Yep. How u get**  
>                                              **my number  
>                                             this ** **time**
> 
> _all i have to do_  
>  _is talk to my phone._  
>  _we r brethren_
> 
> **Ur not part  
>                                              phone**
> 
> _u don’t know my life  
>  cowboy_
> 
> **Yes I do**

 

Genji takes a minute to reply.

>   
>  _u don’t know my inner_  
>  _workings. my heart is_  
>  _made from an iphone_  
>  _for all u know_
> 
> _anyway. r u going back_

 

Jesse sleepily rubs his eyes, typing one-handed.

>   
>  **Yeah. I got big  
>                                              news**
> 
> _juicy. r u finally ready to  
>  announce our engagement  
>  to the rest of the team_

 

A chuckle pushes past his lips and he shakes his head despite himself. He wishes it were something he felt like joking about.

>   
>                                               **I wish**
> 
> _can u talk about it?_
> 
>                                             **Not here**
> 
> _ok. see u there. b safe  
>  don’t talk to strangers  
>  ( ´ ∀ `)ノ_

 

Jesse snorts again.

>   
>  **Whatever u  
>                                                 say iPhone**
> 
> _:P_
> 
>  

Jesse locks the screen again, and drops his arm over his eyes.

He’s got a lot of prep and cleanup to do tomorrow. Just needs to finish up this self-given mission, maybe grab a little more information, and then he can skedaddle on out of here and meet up with his friends again. Drop a bomb, but maybe if they act fast, they can… do something.

Maybe. A man can pray when no one’s there to see it.

At least tomorrow should be easy. In, out, and then… home free.

It’s another hour until he finally dozes off.

 

* * *

 

_Somewhere, a man tucks away a GPS._

_Dorado._

_He heads towards the nearest airport, his black ribbon tickling the nape of his neck._


End file.
